


Untitled Orchestra AU

by newtgottlaid



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Pianist Newt Geiszler, This is entirely self-indulgent and may not appeal to anyone besides myself, University AU, Violinist Hermann Gottlieb, but more importantly, orchestra AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-01-22 16:13:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21304892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newtgottlaid/pseuds/newtgottlaid
Summary: Being the concertmaster of the university symphony is difficult enough without one inevitably developing a crush on the guest piano soloist.(This is 80% inspired by the raw romanticism of Rachmaninoff's second piano concerto and 20% inspired by the fact that Charlie Day really can play the piano.)
Relationships: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Comments: 18
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

“This should come as no surprise to those of you who have read through the email I sent last week, but today we have a guest,” Dr. Pentecost’s voice rings out in the windowless room, “one Newton Geiszler, who will be featured on this season’s concert programme.” 

Hermann rolls his eyes. He had read the email - obviously - but he still didn’t understand why a guest artist would need to attend the first rehearsal of the concert season. They hadn’t even sight-read his piece yet. 

(Well, Hermann had sight-read it. Hermann knew it like the back of his hand already. He was the concertmaster, after all. He had begged Dr. Pentecost to send him copies of the first violin parts weeks ago, despite Pentecost’s insistence that it was “the middle of summer” and that Hermann “shouldn’t be pestering him yet.'') 

At any rate, this _Geiszler_ had no business sitting in on their rehearsal. He would be nothing but a distraction to the orchestra at this point. 

Geiszler begins introducing himself and Hermann gives him a once-over. He looks young. Too young, almost, for a graduate student, with his baby face and comically thick glasses. He’s short, stocky, and wearing a ratty collegiate hoodie. His too-tight jeans are torn to shreds. Terribly unprofessional for a featured artist. 

Hermann immediately tunes out Geiszler’s excited, high-pitched voice in favor of sorting through his sheet music. Geiszler is to be playing Rachmaninoff’s second piano concerto. Not quite as bold a movie as Rach 3, obviously, but a nice piece nonetheless. Hermann had already listened to it several times and taken meticulous notes on the first violin entrances. 

“He’s cute, don’t you think?”

Hermann turns to his stand partner. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We both know you only have eyes for that cellist of yours.” His lets his voice grow teasing. “What’s his name again? Becket?” 

Mako instantly turns bright red, but brushes it off quickly. “I’m not talking about for me, I’m talking about _for you_,” she says, smiling and gently nudging Hermann with her shoulder. “Maybe this year you’ll finally go on a date.”

Mako is only an undergraduate student, unlike Hermann, who was in the third year of his DMA program, but she is exceptionally talented and a hard worker to boot. She has been Hermann’s stand partner for the past two years, and has harbored a crush on a charming undergraduate cello player, a certain Raleigh Becket, the entire time. As far as Hermann knew, the two had yet to speak, so Mako really was in no place to criticise. 

Not to mention that Hermann’s dating life - or lack of it, rather - was none of her business. It isn’t that he can’t get a date. (Hermann knows that, if one could look past the cane, reading glasses, and dated sense of fashion, he _is_ rather good-looking.) It’s just that romance isn’t a priority right now-- what with a doctorate to get and all that. He simply doesn’t have room in his schedule for the petty, time-consuming rituals of it all. Especially not with a _pianist_. Especially not with one that wears _skinny jeans_. 

He realizes Dr. Pentecost is speaking again: sternly doling out the part assignments for the winds and brass sections. Geiszler, who must have finished his lengthy self-introduction, had retreated to a wooden chair against the wall behind the conductor’s podium, only a few feet from Hermann’s seat, where he is now flipping through messy handfuls of loose sheet music. He drops a few to the floor and scrambles to pick them up. Hermann sighs. Unprofessional, indeed. Geiszler seems to sense Hermann watching him, and looks up. Hermann quickly tries to avoid eye contact, but it’s already too late. Geiszler jumps off the floor with a grin and bounds towards him. 

“Hello!” he says, cheerily. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Newt Geis---”

“Geiszler. I know.” Hermann shifts his violin and bow to his left hand and stiffly holds out his right. “Hermann Gottlieb. Concertmaster.”

Geiszler - Newt - takes his hand and shakes it, once. “I know who you are. I, um---” He looks embarrassed, “I went to your recital at the end of the summer.” He frowns. “Didn’t you get my letter?”

_Letter?_

Before Hermann can ask, Pentecost is gesturing to the orchestra and Geiszler is scrambling back to his seat. 

“Letter? ” Hermann whispers harshly at him, even as he raises his violin to his shoulder. 

But Geiszler is already absorbed in his pile of sheet music and doesn’t notice. 

* * *

They make it three bars into the first tutti section before Pentecost stops them. Geiszler is out of his seat and gesticulating wildly. 

Pentecost sighs, “What is it, Newton?”

“It’s too slow,” Geiszler blurts out. “I mean, not _too_ slow, I guess, just slower than I usually take it. You’re not wrong to take it this slow, you know,” he backtracks, “I just, well, I just prefer it a bit faster.” 

“Alright,” Pentecost replies with the measured patience of someone who had been dealing with pushy soloists his whole career, “how fast do you usually take it?”

“Well, it’s more about the _vibe_,” Geiszler says, “I don’t exactly have a, you know, set point or anything. I just take it the way it feels best.” 

“Well could you give me an example of this… best feeling?”

Geiszler, to Hermann’s horror, begins singing the piano part in that same screechy voice he speaks in. It’s out of tune and bloody awful, and Hermann can only hope that his talent at the piano is superior to his vocal skill.

Pentecost makes a face and waves at him to stop. Hermann chokes down a laugh.

They restart from measure twelve. 

* * *

Geiszler stays quiet after that, miraculously. 

The next two hours of rehearsal pass without upset, and Hermann, to be entirely honest, forgets Geiszler is even there. 

That is, until he is putting away his violin, and feels a hand on his shoulder. 

It’s Pentecost, and Hermann breathes out a sigh of relief. 

“Mister Gottlieb,” Pentecost begins, “it would be of great help if you were to do me a favor.”

“Of course, sir,” Hermann says. 

“Our, ah, our guest artist has some... comments... on the Rachmaninoff that I simply do not have time to get to before Wednesday’s rehearsal,” Pentecost says, slowly. Hermann pales, knowing what’s coming next. “Would you mind finding a time to go over those with him sometime before then?”

“Not at all, sir,” Hermann says, before he can give himself a chance to think about it. Being concertmaster means having certain responsibilities, and this is just one of them, he supposes. It’ll take, what, an hour at most? He can handle it. He _will_ handle it. With aplomb. 

“Great.” Pentecost slaps his shoulder, “I’ll let you two talk.” He steps aside to reveal Geiszler standing right behind him, holding his stack of papers and smiling sheepishly. 

“I was thinking we could get coffee,” he says immediately. 

“Right now?” Hermann looks at his watch. “It’s 8:00 in the evening.”

“Tea then. Herbal. I dunno…” he trails off, “maybe we can just meet tomorrow, instead.”

“No,” Hermann says, “let’s do it tonight.” He stands, slinging his violin case over his shoulder and reaching for the cane propped against the side of his chair. 

“Here, let me---” 

“I can do it myself, Mister Geiszler,” Hermann snaps. 

“Sorry, I, uh” Geiszler stammers, “sorry. Just trying to help.”

Any embarrassment he feels regarding Hermann's small outburst doesn’t stop him from running ahead to open the door for Hermann on the way out of the room. And it certainly doesn't stop him from grinning when Hermann walks through with a roll of his eyes. 

“Come on dude,” he says, a stupid grin still plastered on his face, “and call me Newt.”


	2. Chapter 2

“I can’t stay too late,” says Hermann, as he pushes the cafe door open, “I’m terribly sorry, but I have a meeting with my advisor in the morning.”

(It’s true: he does have an appointment set for 7:30 the next day, though he certainly isn’t _ sorry _ about it.)

Geiszler--- sorry, _ Newt _ shrugs. “No problem, dude. I only have a couple of notes.”

Hermann highly doubts that, given that Newt had spent the entire walk from campus chattering on about the characteristics of Late Romantic compositions, but gives a hum of agreement. He scans the menu for something only lightly-caffeinated. 

The two remain silent while they wait in line to order. When it’s his turn, Hermann orders a cup of the house green tea blend. He reaches for his wallet but is cut off. 

“Make that two,” Newt says to the barista, “and it’s on me.” He hands over a wad of cash and winks at Hermann. 

Hermann flushes, despite his best efforts not to, and follows Newt to a table. 

While they sip their drinks they talk about green tea. And black tea. And coffee. And the chilly October weather. Small talk with Newt is not as terrible as he predicted, and he begins to wonder if he misjudged the man’s character too soon into their association.

The barista brings over a slice of something that looks like cake. “We’re closing in an hour, and I’m starting to pack up the pastries,” she says with a wink, “we would have thrown it out anyway.”

Hermann thanks her, and makes a mental note to tip even better next time he is in. 

Newt grins, and digs in. The cake is halfway gone before he looks up and mumbles, mouth full, “M-oh shit, Hermann, you want some?” Hermann shakes his head. “You sure, dude? It’s really good.” 

“No thank you, ah, Newt,” Hermann forces down any thoughts of the other man looking _ endearing _ as he spills crumbs all over the table and down the front of his sweater. “Perhaps we should get started going over your notes on the concerto.”

“Right! Of course!” Newt reaches into messenger bag he carried with him and pulls out a spiral-bound copy of his piano part, sticky notes and loose sheets of score shoved between the pages. “Okay, so about the speed, I’ll be taking the very beginning a _ bit _ \--- only a bit!--- slower, but once we get to the _ con passione _, I want it faster.” Hermann nods and reaches for the pen and notepad he brought with him. “Like, I know it says half note equals 66, but, dude, that’s insane. Let’s just say half note equals 80 and call it good.”

* * *

Most of Newt’s comments on the Rachmaninoff are vague (“it needs to feel more blue”), esoteric (“haven’t you ever seen_ Brief Encounter_?”), or entirely inappropriate (“play it like you’re having really great sex!”).

Hermann, who has spent the past seven years at university studying musical theory, who sees music as a science, _ who would never, under any circumstances, describe an accelerando as “orgasmic” _, finds Newt’s self-proclaimed “hot takes” on the piece ungrounded and amateur, though he does admit, to himself only, that a handful of Newt’s notes have merit. 

He writes all of them down anyway.

* * *

They end up staying until the cafe closes, and even then, Newt begs the waitress to let them stay fifteen minutes longer. 

“It’s about art!” Newt cries.

“Fine. Just as long as I can sweep around your table,” the waitress responds. 

* * *

“So, I won’t be at your rehearsals for the next couple weeks,” Newt says, as he and Hermann exit the cafe. “I’m going to California to teach some masterclasses with a former instructor of mine.” He looks at Hermann with a smug grin and wags his eyebrows. “I’m kind of a piano rockstar.”

Hermann pulls his scarf tighter around his face to hide his chuckle.

“Anyway,” Newt rambles on, “I’m really looking forward to playing with you guys. I hear they’re doing to drag that gorgeous Bosendorfer upstairs for me.”

“I, er---” Hermann starts, unsure what to say.

“Look, I gotta head back to the music building to get my bike,” Newt says, “but, um, it was great talking with you!” He pauses, for a moment, then reaches over and squeezes Hermann’s upper arm. The gesture is bizarre but… not unwelcome, Hermann thinks. 

“You too, Newt.”

Hermann isn’t lying. It _ was _ nice talking to him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d simply shared conversation and a cup of tea with someone. It really had been years since he last went on a date… not that this was a date! It definitely wasn’t. Definitely not. 

Newt lets go of Hermann’s arm and gives a little smile. “I’ll see you around!”

And with that, he skips off, back towards campus. 

Hermann lets out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding in, and checks his watch. Nearly 10:00. He heads over to the bus stop, pulls out his notepad, and starts drafting an email to Dr. Pentecost. He doesn't really need to type up Newt’s notes tonight, he supposes, but he does need something to distract him from the clench in his chest and the churning feeling in his stomach. 

It’s only after he's at home and in bed that Hermann realizes he forgot to ask about the letter. 


	3. Chapter 3

Hermann wakes up, as always, fifteen minutes before his 6:00 alarm goes off. His leg is aching and the foggy feeling in his head indicates he probably could have slept better. With a frustrated _yank_, Hermann pulls his weighted blanket more firmly atop himself, then reaches for the phone on his nightstand: he may as well check his email from the comfort of his bed.

He has a couple of emails from the university (probably about class registration for next semester), an email from his sister (probably about his adamant refusal to play the violin at her upcoming wedding), and— no, that can't be right— _six_ unread emails from one N. Geiszler at kaijublue@gmail.com. They’re all sent between the hours of two and three that morning, and most have no subject line. 

The first two he opens are empty save for PDFs of Newt’s piano part and score, respectively. The next three are additional notes on the concerto (“sorry, I think I might have forgotten these”) (“oh shit sorry here’s more”) (“last one I promise!!!”). It's terribly unprofessional and hopelessly endearing. 

The last email is the only one with a subject line, which reads “NOT orchestra related”. Hermann is about to open it when his alarm clock rings. With a sigh, he closes out his email app and drags himself out of bed for a shower. He’ll read Newt’s email first chance he gets, but he has a strict schedule to maintain. What with being a doctoral student and all that. 

At 6:20, Hermann throws a banana and a gluten-free muffin into his backpack, grabs his violin, and heads out the door. By 6:29, he’s standing on the steps of the music building. Hermann’s lived in the same studio apartment just off campus for the past three years. It’s a bit pricey, but he appreciates the privacy and the short commute (not to mention the spacious and accessible bathtub). Hermann heads to his favorite practice room, the one at the end of the hall with the least beat-up chair, and supposes he can get in a good forty-five minutes of warming up before his 7:30 meeting with his advisor.

He pulls out his violin, tunes it quickly, and lets himself sink into the warm comfort of routine. Newt's email could wait.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, the buzz of Hermann’s phone in his pocket alerts him that he’d better pack up his things and head up to the administrative offices on the third floor. He sets his violin on the bench outside of Ramin’s office and looks over the posters pinned to the corkboard above it. Advertisements for piano tuners, schedules for upcoming departmental shows, job listings for musicians willing to play Christmas mass over at the Catholic church on 47th (he writes down the phone number for that one). A few tacky posters for personal recitals. One "help wanted" for a volunteer undergraduate piano tutor that looked like it was put together in MS Paint.

He wondered if Newt ever taught piano. Hermann himself had taken a few years of lessons as required by his degree, but he had never gotten the hang of it. He thought he might like for Newt to tutor him. To sit down and press up next to him on the piano bench, to guide his novice hands with his strong, practiced ones. To-- no, let's stop that train of thought right now. 

He's about to knock on Ramin's door - it's 7:30 and unusual for him to be anything but prompt about his appointments with students - when he feels his phone vibrate. 

An email, from his advisor. "Running late, is it okay to reschedule?" Hermann quickly responds, yes, of course, here's my availability this week and next. 

Hermann figures the responsible thing to do would be to head back downstairs and get in an extra half hour of practice before his theory class. But he thinks on the unread email from Newt, not orchestra related, and figures it wouldn't hurt to let himself have a little break. Hermann fishes the muffin out of his backpack, sits down on the bench, and opens the message. 

_ Dear Hermann, _

_ Sorry about all the late-night emails! I probably could have waited to send them but I didn't want to forget anything. Anyway, I was thinking. I really had a great time talking to you last night. It's been ages since I've found someone who's fun to talk to AND likes to talk about music. I don't want to sound like an asshole but most of the other music performance students here are SO boring. This sounds stupid as hell but you're like a breath of fresh air. _

_ Okay so here's the thing. I have an extra ticket to that all-Beethoven chamber music festival downtown next month and I was wondering if you'd maybe want to go with me? I figure we could get dinner and drinks afterwards, too, if you want. No pressure, just let me know if you'd be interested. I attached the flyer from their website. _

_ At any rate, I'll see you around! Best of luck rehearsing for the next two weeks without me LOL. _

_ Best, _

_ Newt _

_ P.S. I'm realizing now that "not orchestra related" is kind of a lie, because like, chamber music and everything… but hey at least it's not school-related. _

Hermann's heart is pounding in his chest. Did Newt just ask him on a date? He wants desperately to believe that's the case but just because a man wears skinny jeans doesn't mean he's gay. 

He looks back at the email.

_ P.P.S. I think my rainbow flag pin fell off my bag at the cafe, could you let me know if you've seen it? _

Okay, so Newt is gay. But just because a man is gay doesn't mean he is interested in a date. This could easily be two colleagues enjoying a mutual interest outside of academia. 

Hermann re-reads the email, then heads to class, where he ends up reading it fifteen more times in lieu of taking notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so short and the ending is rushed LMAO I will fix it when I have the time and energy to. I'm just trying to get the rest of chapters written and out there so the story is complete.....then I'll touch it all up later probably.


End file.
